


Birds of a Feather

by EllaStorm



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 01:06:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9049138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaStorm/pseuds/EllaStorm
Summary: Q never shows his wings in public. Bond has always been more than just a little straightforward about things.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SandraMorningstar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandraMorningstar/gifts).



> This story was written as an x-mas present for the wonderful @SandraMorningstar who has been a 00Q writer ever since the very beginning of her AO3 days - and an awesome one at that. Also, she totally deserved to have a story with only a modicum of soul-shattering angst written for her.
> 
> Check her fantastic work out here:  
> http://archiveofourown.org/users/SandraMorningstar/pseuds/SandraMorningstar
> 
> Merry Christmas!

They had been working together for about two months when Bond marched into Q branch one Saturday night at two a.m., leaned sideways against the wall next to the quartermaster’s desk and calmly said: “What is it about that harness?”

 

Q blinked at him. He had known this question was going to be asked sooner or later; had known it from the moment they’d met, when Bond’s cool, calculating gaze had scanned him up and down for the first time. The only thing that surprised him was the upfront manner of 007’s entrance. But then – maybe Q should have seen _that_ coming, too. Bond wasn’t exactly squeamish, and even though he had chosen the circumstances very carefully (Q was usually the only one working here at this time of night), he had asked his question with unsurpassed bluntness, a clean cut right to the core. Q reckoned that this exact pattern of behaviour was one of the major reasons Bond was good at his job.

 

“I’m working,” Q replied.

Bond didn’t move a muscle. “Me too.”

They looked at each other, and Q noticed how stingingly blue Bond’s eyes were in the half-light of the room, before he gave his standard answer. 

“I wear it to work. I hate to kick things about with my wings every opportunity I get. Unlike you, apparently.” He shot Bond’s wings a look. For the time being the agent had them neatly folded up behind his perfectly tailored suit, but Q had seen them in action, a black and grey demonstration of power, striking and deadly. 007 never wore a harness, despite M’s insistence. He hated those things with a burning passion. 

“And yet I don’t think you’ve ever taken it off,” Bond retorted. “Not for lunch. Not when you work here at night. Not even during the 72-hour-mission in Dubai.”

“Well, _I’m_ professional.”

The agent laughed without much amusement and elegantly broke away from the wall to step closer to where Q was standing. “I’ve tried wearing them, too, you know. After six hours they start itching, and after ten hours they start hurting like hell. I’ve never had the urge to find out what it feels like wearing them any longer than that.”

“So?” Q said.

“So. What is it about that harness?”

“You’re repeating yourself.”

“You’re evading the question.”

“Yes, because the answer is none of your business.”

“Probably,” Bond gave back. He had come even closer; close enough that Q could catch a hint of his aftershave. His heart was beating fast, and his left hand was shaking very slightly. Bond always had that sort of effect on him, and Q failed to ignore it time and time again.

 

“I’m worried,” the agent said, something strangely gentle in his voice. The quartermaster searched his eyes, a reflex. They didn’t give anything away at all; yet for a small moment he imagined the blue in them to be looking less like steel and more like the sky.

“I’m fine,” he replied, but he hesitated just a millisecond too long, and Bond noticed.

“I’m driving you home.” The agent’s words didn’t tolerate dissent.

 

For once in his life, Q yielded.

***

 

They arrived in Q’s apartment building at about half past two, and even though Q didn’t ask or invite him in, Bond followed him upstairs. Since it would have been rude not to, now that he was already there, Q offered him tea, and left the agent sitting at the kitchen table in front of a steaming mug, while he himself rummaged around his bedroom in search for the packet of cigarettes he _knew_ had to be here somewhere. He had just started scrabbling through his nightstand when Bond said “You’re still wearing it” right behind him – and Q froze. A big, nervous, scared part of him urged him to get away and throw Bond out immediately, but there was something else inside him, too, something that reminded him of the odd gentleness in Bond’s voice earlier, so he stayed where he was, holding his breath, a deer in the headlights.

 

“I’m going to take it off,” Bond said. “Tell me if I hurt you.”

Q didn’t answer.

Three seconds later he felt fingers working at his harness, loosening the ties that held everything in place with careful precision. Q tried to breathe but his legs were shaking and his pulse was going painfully fast. No one had seen his wings for three years; and the last person he had shown them to had been his lover for six months, before Q had been brave enough to leave the lights on. Bond on the other hand was uncharted territory. Q hardly knew him beyond the office, which meant that he hardly knew him at all – but there was something about him, beneath the cool exterior, something he had given Q just the slightest glimpse of tonight; and Q couldn’t tell why, but he trusted him.

The harness came loose, and the relief of finally being able to shake his crumpled, aching wings distracted Q enough to forget about Bond’s prolonged presence for a few moments. As soon as he remembered, though, he instinctively pulled his wings tighter to his body.

 

“Why are you hiding them?” Bond asked after a long while.

Q swallowed. “Pterodystrophia. It’s a birth defect. They are too small, and even if they weren’t – the muscles along the sides are weak. I can’t spread them. I can’t fly.” His voice broke at the last word. 

“They’re beautiful,” Bond said, and it sounded completely honest. “I’ve never seen that shade of blue on anyone. May I-?”

 

He didn’t finish his sentence, but Q nodded anyway, the warmth in his stomach over-shadowing the fear that still crawled beneath his skin like maggots. A warm, calloused hand touched his neck and started opening the buttons that held Q’s turtleneck in place around his wings. When the fabric fell apart, Q pulled his arms out of the sleeves and let the jumper slide to the floor. His upper body was completely bare now, and the sudden vulnerability of his state made him shiver a little; but a mere second later he sensed Bond’s hand soothingly stroke down his spine and let himself sink back into the touch. Even though this situation was more than unprecedented for him, the intimacy didn’t feel forced, more like a missing puzzle piece that finally fell into place; and when Bond’s other hand touched the upper end of Q’s left wing, softly caressing the feathers there, the quartermaster made a decision and swung around.

He didn’t pay the look of surprise on Bond’s face any further attention; instead he wrapped his arms around the agent’s neck and pulled him in, barely giving him time to adjust. Bond’s lips were rough and dry against Q’s skin, like his hands, but he reciprocated the kiss without hesitation, carefully opening his mouth, and letting Q in. They kissed for what seemed like hours, and when they finally did break apart Q felt as if something deeply significant had shifted within him. It took him a few moments to notice that Bond’s wings had unfurled during the kiss, surrounding them both in their entirety, a warm capsule of soft, smooth feathers.

 

Bond was looking at him with amusement. “That was – rather unexpected.”

Q raised his eyebrows. “Are you complaining?”

“Do I look like it?” Bond asked, and the tails of his wings bumped into Q’s form. The small impact made him stagger forward, right into 007’s arms, where he was being welcomed by another enthusiastic kiss; and right then he was fairly sure that actual flying would pale in comparison to this – Bond pressed up against him, his scent and his wings encompassing him completely.

 

As far as office romances went, this was a damn good one.


End file.
